Page 79 of Good Graces

He looks at me like he doesn’t recognize me at all.

“You spent it,” he echoes. “On what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

I shake my head. “Just go, Warren. Go talk to your mom. Fix it.”

His feet stay planted. “I ... can’t believe you did this.”

“I know.”

I’m not surprised I did it. It’s been a few years, but I got used to it—taking small things from my parents when I felt invisible. Not money, not at first. Just enough to make them notice. Enough to feel like I existed for more than being the quiet one, the good one.

So no, I’m not shocked I did it. But I knew Warren would see me differently once he found out.

Maybe that’s part of the reason I went through with it. Not just because I needed the money, not just because I was selfish. But because some twisted part of me wanted to wreck it. To ruin the only good thing I had before it could ruin me.

“I can’t believe you—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight. “I just . . . I can’t believeyou.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, because it’s all I have left. “I’m really sorry.”

“That’s not enough.” His voice goes quiet. Not soft. Empty. “I don’t know how to reconcile this, Quinn. I don’t know how to look at you and see the same person I trusted. The same person I loved.”

His words land like a blade to the ribs.

“Then don’t,” I whisper. “If that’s what you need—if letting me go makes it easier—then do it.”

“Fine, I will.” He rakes a hand through his hair, almost trembling with it. “I don’t think I can come back from this. I don’t want to see you again after today. It’s over.”

I nod slowly, my throat burning. “I figured.”

He grabs his keys from my desk, shoves his phone into his pocket, and walks out without a word.

I don’t follow. I don’t call after him. I just sit there, staring at the space he left behind, the echo of him still clinging to the air like smoke.

And I tell myself this was inevitable. That I always wreck things when I get too close.

That Warren was never mine to keep.

25

QUINN

“How canI prove it to you?” I tilt my head, breath shaky. “I asked you to meet me here. I told you the truth. What else can I give you?”

“Honesty,” Warren says roughly. “All of it.”

I swallow hard. “This isn’t easy, you know.”

He just stares at me, waiting. Silent. Unmoving. It’s like he’s bracing himself for whatever comes next, and somehow, that’s worse than yelling.

“The truth is—” I gulp, low and rough in my throat. “I started stealing back when I was thirteen. When I was just a kid, drowning in the background. Because I didn’t know how else to make them notice me. Because Wesley was always the one who needed them more. And I get that—God, I get that. He’s my brother, and I love him, and I know he’s been through hell.”

I blink hard, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “But sometimes . . . sometimes I just wanted to matter, too. I wanted to be the one they worried about, the one they paid attention to.” My voice falters. “And the worst part is, it worked. For a minute, anyway. Every time I did it, it was like . . . I don’t know, like I’d found this twisted little shortcut to being seen.”

Warren exhales through his nose, his eyes flicking away from mine. “You felt invisible.”

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